


Familia

by Zyla



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Endgame, Fluff and Angst, GUYS, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Endgame, This is spoilers, dont click if you havent seen the movie, it literally killed me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 13:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18621253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zyla/pseuds/Zyla
Summary: The aftermath.*No Summary to avoid Spoilers.*





	Familia

It just _hurts._

It hurts because he finally came back. It hurts because the world was saved.

 

It hurts because even with all the _good,_ the only important thing was taken away.

 

Tony Stark’s funeral was small. There were no reporters, no distant friends or random relatives. Just a single family.

A single family with another missing member.

Peter hopes he knew that The Avengers were his family, in the end.

He hopes he knew what he was to Peter.

What possibly hurts the most is that he _knows_ there is no bringing him back. He’s never been religious, never believed in any form of afterlife, and some part of him hates himself for it. Because when he thinks of what Tony may be doing, all he sees is nothingness. His eyes burn with the promise of tears. He refuses to let them fall, blinking halfway and continuing to stare ahead.

Everything inside of him feels like it’s breaking and all he can do is ride through the waves of sorrow and anger that course through his chest.

He hates Doctor Strange for letting it happen. Hates Captain America for not doing anything more, and Thor for not saving the day.

He hates himself for being so damn selfish - for being so damn scared and for not being there.

One in fourteen million, right? 

That was their excuse - their way to comfort loss. Because Tony Stark was now labeled as a hero.

As if he wasn’t always one, Peter thinks bitterly.

May’s hand on his shoulder no longer feels grounding. Peter feels like he’s floating - it’s so light, so small, compared to the hand of Tony.

But he pushes it all down with a swallow, bottling it up in his chest and acts as though he’s fine.

Peter is _fine._

 

—

 

It is a mercy when the funeral service ends. A few linger, sharing stories with each other of the infamous Iron Man.

He’d distanced himself from the group. His numb legs carry him to the front of the bridge and he watches the florals float away with a sense of dread.

Peter flinches when a hand grips at his shoulder. It lifts slightly in reaction.

“Sorry, just thought, ah, you’d want some company.” Steve whispers.

Peter keeps his eyes locked on the gentle swaying of the lake.

“I’m fine.” He curses his voice for cracking.

Steve doesn’t say anything for a while. He just stands there, a pillar of support next to a crumbling mentality.

“He loved you, kid. I was convinced you were his own for a while.” Steve chuckles, and Peter knows he’s trying to lighten the mood, but it feels like a stone has been dropped in the pit of his stomach.

Peter exhales shakily, trying to get a hold of the tears that beg to be released.

“And I know he meant everything to you too.”

On any normal occasion, he would have never snapped at Captain America. Right now, he couldn’t care any less.

“What do you know?” He hisses quietly. Peter turns his head to glare at him. Steve looks taken aback, mouth opening to speak. Peter cuts him off. “You don’t know _anything._ You weren’t _there._ He was dying and you didn’t help him. _You-“_ He shoves an accusing finger at Steve. “Didn’t help _him.”_

Steve’s expression softens and he lowers his head.

“It’s not your fault.” Steve murmurs after a second. Like he knew those words weren’t directed at him. Peter feels his whole body freeze. Everything inside of him breaks at once because _yes,_ it is his fault. All he could do was beg, push at his mentor’s shoulders, and convince him they won.

He hoped that maybe if he told him enough, Tony would lift his head and laugh a hearty laugh, maybe pull him in a hug again, and life would be good.

Instead, those blank eyes didn’t even turn to look at him. Didn’t acknowledge his existence.

To see him so full of life, injured but happy to see Peter, and suddenly dying and broken left Peter reeling. 

It was unfair. He had everything he could have ever wanted in his reach, he fought for it, only to have it snatched away and given to the billions that died.

Tony didn’t deserve death. 

But the heroes never get what they deserve.

A sob rips from his throat and he rushes forward into Steve’s chest. Captain America just holds him, wrapping solid arms around him.

Peter grips at the fabric of a probably overpriced tuxedo and presses his face into it.

_Damn it._

“You’re okay.” Steve reassures quietly next to his ear. Peter shakes his head.

 _He’s not._ He’s breaking right now and damn it all, he just wants Tony to be there to pick up the pieces.

“I know how much you meant to him, kid,” Steve continues. “You were the best thing to ever happen to him.”

Peter knows.

It hurts more, to know that you were important to someone. It hurts more for that person to be important to you.

“I want him.” Peter whispers hoarsely against Steve’s chest. One of the hands on his shoulder blades rub comforting circles and he breathes in a wilting breath.

“...I do too.” Steve admits quietly. It sounds like a secret.

Peter knows they butted heads, constantly, but they were _family._ That’s what family _does._

“Mr. Rogers?”

Steve scoffs at the formal name. “Steve?” Peter corrects.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” his voice is wavering dangerously, “I wish t-that he knew.”

“Knew what?” Confusion is obvious in his voice.

“How much we loved him.”

The next time Steve speaks, Peter can hear the smile in it.

“He knew, Pete. He knows.”

—

Peter is fully aware that he looks like shit. His eyes are burning. A pounding headaches throbs in the center of his head.

Pepper had called for him, ushering him into a small cabin that seemed perfectly like Tony and perfectly unlike him.

Pepper is grinning through her tears, promising him he’ll be happy with the surprise. But he doesn’t even know what to suspect. It’s certainly not a little girl. And especially not one with familiar dark hair and eyes. His heart clenches painfully and he tries not to choke on air.

She hurries over to Pepper, eyes looking him up and down with something like excitement.

He can only stare.

“You’re Spiderman?” The little girl whispers.

He nods numbly.

She barrels forward into his legs and he nearly loses balance. Pepper laughs wetly. “This is our daughter, Morgan.”

Peter doesn’t know what to do with that information. He wants to congratulate her but no words escape from his mouth, getting caught in his throat.

“Spiderman! You’re so cool! Is it true you’re the best avenger?” Her voice is so cheery that it warms his aching heart.

Her words, however, sting.

Peter crouches down to her level and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Nah, that was your Dad.” He says easily.

Morgan looks up at him with big, warm eyes, and it hurts just a little less.

She steps to her tippy toes and whispers in his ear. “Is it true you’re my brother?”

Peter feels his body tense. It’s involuntary. Every muscle clenching and leaving him stiff as a board.

Is he?

Was that what Tony Stark thought of him?

Because _he_ sure as hell never had a Dad before, but he was sure he’d found one.

He sends a questioning glance Pepper’s way, and by whatever magic, she seems to know exactly what his question is.

“You’ll always be part of the family, Peter.”

Peter lets everything go, the tension coiled in his body and the dread curling in his heart. He cries without restraint and engulfs Morgan in a hug. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

They cry with him.

—

 

It’s months later that the wound is reopened. 

Peter refused to go near his suit. It’s scratched and dented and every time he looks at it he sees himself desperately shaking at Tony’s shoulders.

The first day home, he had opened his closet in search of something comfy, anything that could help release the anxiety crashing against him. He found his “I survived my trip to NYC” shirt.

He can vividly remember Tony rushing him to a small run-down little gift shop and flinging the shirt at him. 

“This is way too big!” Peter whined.

”Yeah, yeah, that’s what it’s like when you’re a kid. Some things don’t fit.” Tony had replied pointedly. Peter knew he was talking about Spiderman and his mood plummeted further.

But all the harsh edges of Tony Stark just proved he cared.

Peter had clutched at the shirt and cried until he couldn’t anymore.

Peter had only recently started returning to school. Seeing Ned again felt like a breath of fresh air. His friend must have noticed something was off, everyone seemed to see some aura of pain around him. He had never been popular, but people have never outright avoided him either. 

Ned hadn’t even asked. He talked to Peter as though he’d break any minute. Not that Peter could blame him. 

But he was encouraging, motivating Peter to do something. To be Spiderman. To make a change. 

And so Peter tries. 

It’s weird, seeing the metallic red of his suit again. All the scratches and inhuman blood splattered across its surface make it seem more like a lost relic than his own suit. 

“Hey, Karen...” 

The eyes of the suit light up a bright white. It’s welcoming, even as fear pumps through his heart. 

Her robotic voice is comforting and familiar. “Peter.”

Yet, he still feels anxiety. He doesn’t want to be a hero, anymore. 

Some part of him must disagree, because he still puts the armor on. 

“You have one new voice message.” Her voice rings through his ears. 

How? His eyes scan across the display, looking for any signature of contact. “What? From who?”

”Unknown. Would you like me to play the audio?” 

“I guess.” 

“Hey, kiddo-“ Peter freezes. He knows that voice. He hasn’t heard that voice in months. 

“If you get this, something probably happened. And by something, I mean I’m dead. Y’know, that type of thing.” 

Peter’s knees buckle. He hits the ground with a loud cling, the metal of the suit meeting hardwood floors.

”So I’m doing a little diary thing. Isn’t it cute? Took the idea from that little rat thing that has the gun. He’s pretty smart - I mean, definitely not a Tony Stark, but...”

His breathing is unsteady, as stated by several warnings that pop up in his vision. Metal fingers scrape against the ground, trying to get control of himself.

”But, well you know... I’m sorry, Peter.” 

“Tony...” Peter whispers through raspy breaths. 

“And I must have been a moron to die on you like that.” Tony’s voice chuckles. “So I just... Need you to not be a moron and move on.” 

Peter feels like he can’t breathe. Hell, he can barely hear Tony’s voice over the sound of his own heartbeat. 

“But I’m _so proud of you_. It’s just - something about you - something, I don’t know, that makes you amazing... Ah fuck, I’m being sappy.”

Peter laughs wetly. 

“Look - I, uh. My dad wasn’t great but he wasn’t too bad either. And I want to be better to you, and I just don’t know how. I don’t want you to get hurt. I am harsh sometimes but damnit you keep pulling through and doing things I couldn’t even think of... And all those stupid things you do? I love them all, Peter. You’re my kid. I hope you know that. I hope you know how _proud_  I am of you.” 

Peter feels too many things - it’s like a tsunami of emotion in his head and he can’t get a handle of it. He wraps his arms around himself, trying to breathe steadily. Tony is proud of him. Tony is proud of _him_.

”Jesus.” Tony’s voice is nothing but a wheezing breath, as though he’s surprised with himself. “I love you, kiddo.  It’s the weirdest feeling but... I kinda like it.” 

Peter lets his body rock with the force of his sobs. 

“Well, I’ve gotta clock out... And I’m sorry. I never wanted to leave you... See ya, underoos.”

”Love you, Mr. Stark.” Peter whispers with a shaky smile when the audio turns to static. 

“See you. Maybe one day.” He murmurs to an empty room. 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is so rushed. I saw the movie last night and I felt terrible after seeing it so I had to like vent,  
> this isn't edited, we die like women in this house


End file.
